


(Sort of) Short and Sweet

by firstlightofeos



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bars and Pubs, Bears, Bondage and Discipline, Butterflies, F/F, F/M, Gen, Glam Rock, M/M, Multi, Museums, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Science, Soulmates, Spanking, Specifically Polar Bears, Teacher-Student Relationship, Telepathy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, authority kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlightofeos/pseuds/firstlightofeos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various three-sentence drabbles written for the askbox meme that went around tumblr a few weeks ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. Charles/Erik, Glam Rock/Band AU (for ang3l1sh)

It’s their first truly massive show—blinding lights, screaming crowds as far as the eye can see, a giant cordoned-off section for the press, a live recording—and they rock harder than they ever have before, louds louder, softs softer, no one feeling the pressure of every eye on them more than Charles, who holds the entire audience in the palm of his hand from the very first notes he sings; and Erik, drumming in the back, is as spellbound as anyone. 

They’re all riding a _massive_ high when they finally, _finally_ , after three encores and a standing ovation that leaves Erik’s ears ringing, and it’s the adrenaline, and three hours of staring at Charles’s ass in tight, glittering pants, that have him shoving Charles against the wall in the green room and kissing him within an inch of his life, running his hand through Charles’s tightly slicked-back hair and delighting in messing him up as much as possible. 

“ _God_ ,” Erik breathes, falling to his knees—not an easy task, in his platform boots—and attacking the front of Charles’s pants, “you have no _idea_ what you were doing to me, to everyone in there, I’m going to _ruin_ you the way you’ve ruined everyone else,” and Charles, his voice completely shot, chokes out, his fingers flexing against the crown of Erik’s head, “Yes, fuck, _yes_.”


	2. Charles/Erik, Retail AU (for fourteenacross)

“Some day,” Erik declares, re-folding yet another bizarrely patterned button-down shirt, “I am going to make _signs_ with _instructions_ on how to properly fold clothes—or, better yet, red and purple signs that just say, ‘You wrinkle it, you buy it’—and post them all over the store, and ban anyone who doesn’t learn from the store.”

Charles just laughs—he’s heard this a thousand times, and has yet to see Erik do anything more severe than just glower fiercely at the offending customers—and says, “Darling, if everyone in the world actually learned how to fold shirts properly, you’d not only lose your job, but your favorite thing to complain about.” 

“I’m sure I’d find something,” Erik mutters darkly, casting his eyes around the store and glaring indiscriminately at everyone and everything; Charles shakes his head and chuckles under his breath as he turns back to his own pile of (hideous, misshapen) argyle sweaters in an effort to distract himself from the deft, brisk motions of Erik’s hands, the furrow in his brow that Charles longs to kiss away—if he could only find the right moment.


	3. Charles/Erik, Butterflies (for kageillusionz)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's somewhat based on my own high school research experiences—where yes, I did have to do all of this.

“I _hate_ butterflies,” Charles whines, collapsing onto his bed with a groan and throwing his arm over his face, “hate, hate, hate, hate, _hate_.” Without waiting for Erik to ask what’s wrong, he says, ”They _exist_ ; they _fly_ , and then I have to _catch_ them, without destroying them, and then I have to force them to extend their proboscises so they’ll eat their food, and then I have to try to get them to breed, but make sure I’m breeding the right lines, and then some of them die before I can get any data on them, or they vanish, and I know they’re an excellent model system for studying evolution, but _really_.” 

This isn’t the first time Erik’s heard Charles make this particular complaint about his thesis research—not by a long shot; and so it’s with the ease of practice that he leans down and kisses Charles, then pulls back with a grin and says, as he settles himself on top of Charles’s thighs, “Why don’t you let me show you _my_ proboscis,” before leaning down and smirking as Charles starts to groan in an entirely different way.


	4. Charles/Raven, Professor/Student AU (for pearlo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've tagged this as "Student-Teacher Relationship," but Raven is no longer Charles's student when they actually start dating. Technicalities are great!

Raven’s half a semester into her Sociology PhD when she becomes the worst cliché, in a way she’d promised herself would never happen: she develops a crush on her professor—and not one of those silly girly crushes, but a full-fledged, adult one, complete with sex dreams and fantasies of digging her fingers into his ass, feeling his agile pink tongue between her thighs. 

She’d be embarrassed if he weren’t so hot, or so young, or if she hadn’t caught him staring after her when she’d worn her tightest miniskirt to class, or losing his train of thought when she flirts with him in his office hours—and then flirting right back, even more shamelessly than her. 

So it’s not all that much of a surprise when, as soon as the grade submission deadline has passed, she finds an e-mail in her inbox from Professor Xavier asking her to dinner; nor is it a surprise when she responds almost immediately, telling him a) to wear a suit, but no tweed or elbow patches, or she’s walking out, b) that she expects to be properly wined and dined, none of that on-campus bar shit, and c) she promises nothing, but if he wants anything to happen, it’s on him to bring the condoms.


	5. Charles/Emma/unnamed third, Playtime With Telepaths (for professorofeljay)

“That one?” Charles asks, indicating the petite brunette sitting at the bar, throwing her head back and laughing at whatever awful joke the bartender has just told; Emma sips her drink and takes a quick glimpse of her mind. 

“Too Puritan,” she says, “and I know you’re going to say that’s the point, but I’m tired of the corrupt-the-good-vanilla-girl routine; I want someone more interesting for us to play with tonight.” 

She casts around, and then her mind lands on the tall man in the corner, all lean, whipcord muscle, a dark expression on his face—and oh, a _marvelous_ cock, apparently, and a desire, a _need_ , to be pulled to pieces, to pull everyone else to pieces—and she says, her tone brooking no argument, “Him.”


	6. Erik/Moira, Authority Kink, Spanking (for professorofeljay)

“Twenty- _five_!” Erik chokes out, practically a scream, his hips stuttering forward, finding no friction, nothing to give him any relief; Moira takes a step back, shaking out her hands as she assesses the picture in front of her: Erik bent over at the foot of the bed, forearms pillowed on the mattress, legs spread as wide as they’ll comfortably go, fingers flexing as he tests the strength of the cord she’d knotted around his wrists, red handprints blooming across his pale ass as it tenses and relaxes, muscles moving almost hypnotically. 

“Come _on_ , Moira, let me come,” Erik begs; “I’ve been good, I’ll _be_ good, let me come, _please_ , Moira—”

“ _Mistress_ ,” she corrects him, coming forward to pin his wrists to the mattress and delivering yet another stinging slap to his quivering ass.


	7. Charles/Erik, Museum (for theletteraesc)

“Charles,” Erik sighs exasperatedly, “we are _not_ going to the L. Ron Hubbard House—which I hadn’t heard about until now, by the way—because I have no desire to visit the place where Scientology was born; you know how I feel about their stance on mutants, and I know you agree with me.”

“But that’s the whole point of going,” Charles argues, “to understand where they’re coming from, so we can better determine—”

“You’re not tricking me with that one again,” Erik says, grabbing Charles’s arm and dragging him toward the nearest Metro station, “it’s my turn to choose, and I say we’re going to the Spy Museum.”


	8. Charles/Erik, Polar Bears (for trobador)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original prompt: "Prompting Charles/Erik, and polar bears. Big ones."

“No,” Charles says flatly, recognizing the evaluative gleam in Erik’s eyes, “there is no way you’re going to convince me to allow you to fight in a cage match to the death against a polar bear.”

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” Erik grumbles, slumping almost instantly, “I could totally take him.” 

“Yes, dear,” Charles says calmly, “and that’s the _problem_.”


	9. Emma/Raven, Soulmates (for unforgott3n)

They sit across from each other in the hospital room, shaking with the effort of _not_ touching each other, each unable to take her eyes off the other; Raven glares daggers, and Emma does her best to appear bored even as her mind fights against the barriers she’s erected, struggling to reach out to Raven and solidify the fledgling bond growing between them. 

Finally, unable to take it any more, Emma allows one tendril to snake out, just the barest hint of a thought, and brushes it lightly against Raven’s own shields, offering but not asking; she’s giving Raven the option of saying no, but not handing her everything all at once, not willing to risk the hurt that would come from Raven turning her away, not when it’s already this hard to keep from striding across the room and yanking her out of that chair and dragging her over to the bed so they can seal themselves together. 

Raven blinks at the touch of Emma’s mind, and then slowly, slowly, she ripples to blue again, reaching out hesitantly with her own faint thought—and then she seems to resolve upon something, her expression hardening and taking on a determined cast, before she winds her thread around Emma’s, and says, quietly but with steel, “Okay, do it.”


End file.
